A Vicar's Life
by Psi Fi
Summary: The Master settles into his disguise as the vicar of the village of Devil's End.


The Master sat back in his desk with a smirk of satisfaction. Things were proceeding nicely. He had convinced two men of the village to join his coven and they had promised to bring others with them. The Master considered this good work, since he'd only been the vicar for a week! Soon, he would have enough followers to provide him the psychic energy he needed for his task. Beltane was in another month and then he would raise Azal, the Daemon, and be given the Earth to rule as he pleased! True, in the meantime, he had to perform the office of a human vicar, in order to reel in members for his coven and to maintain his disguise, but the Master felt it was a small price to pay.

The Master took out some paper and began preparing his sermon for the following Sunday. It was an interesting task, since the Master took the liberty of filling his sermons with his personal philosophies, carefully hidden behind the human religious doctrine. Giving speeches that could shape the way people thought was a necessary skill in a ruler and the Master prided himself on his ability to sway people, both individually and in groups.

A knock at his office door interrupted the Master's writing and he looked up in irritation. A woman in her early fifties, wearing a print dress of purple with large gray flowers over her plump body, came in, smiling deferentially. Her gray hair was up in a bun and topped with a flat, straw hat. His verger, Garvin, smiled apologetically.

"Excuse me, Mr. Magister, but this is Holly Dawson. She heads the women's committee and Bible study. She wanted to have a word with you."

The Master suppressed a sigh and put on a pleasant smile.

"Of course, please come in, Mrs. Dawson."

The older woman gave him a disgustingly cheerful smile and sat down in the chair in front of his desk.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Magister. I know you must be busy, but I wanted to come and greet you on behalf of the women in town. We'll miss Mr. Smallwood, of course, but we do hope you come to love our little village. We're a small community, but that just makes us close knit..."

"Mrs. Dawson, I appreciate the welcome, but is there anything I can help you with? I do have a sermon to write, after all."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, listen to me prattling on! You're busy, of course. Well, it's just Mr. Smallwood was scheduled to take tea with us on Thursday and we were wondering if you planned on attending instead. Most of us haven't had a chance to really, properly meet you and this seemed a good opportunity. Naturally, we'll get to know you better, as you settle in..."

"Of course," the Master interrupted, struggling to keep his voice and expression friendly. "Let me check my schedule."

The Master pulled out the itinerary he had ordered Garvin to make for him. He had studied the habits of Anglican vicars, before starting this campaign, but there was no point taking risks. Garvin could make sure his schedule was reasonable and unsuspicious. Sure enough, he found a notation for Thursday tea. He forced himself to keep smiling.

"Yes, here it is. Thursday at three o'clock, yes?"

"Yes, that's it! Oh, wonderful! We're looking forward to seeing you there, Mr. Magister!" Mrs. Dawson exclaimed, happily.

"Yes, yes, I'm looking forward to it!" the Master lied. "Was that all, Mrs. Dawson?"

"Oh, well, yes, Mr. Magister."

"Excellent. Thank you for stopping by, Mrs. Dawson, and I'll see you Thursday."

"Oh, I did have one question, Mr. Magister. I'm sorry, if this is indelicate, but no one quite seems to know..."

"Yes?" the Master prompted, a little of his impatience leaking out.

"Well, we were wondering if there is a Mrs. Magister."

"No, I'm not married," the Master admitted, warily, wondering how that was relevant.

"Oh, I see," Mrs. Dawson responded, smiling in a way that made the Master nervous. "Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Magister. We do look forward to seeing you. Have a wonderful day!"

"Good day, Mrs. Dawson," the Master dismissed, standing as she left the room.

When the door shut, the Master sat back down, breathing an exasperated sigh. Humans! He failed to understand how they could focus on such unimportant, trivial nonsense. What did it matter, if he was married or not? Really, the human focus on breeding was horrifying! As he ruminated on human inferiority, Garvin came in, looking apologetic and worried.

"What is it, Garvin?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you have another guest."

"Who is it?" the Master asked irritably.

"I'm Tom Summers, Mr. Magister," a young man answered, coming in and sitting down, unbidden.

The Master was tempted to throw him out for his impertinence, but decided to exercise patience. It was a useful trait and the man was both young and human. The Master would be merciful and make allowances for him. He smiled and waved Garvin away, who exited quickly.

"Well, Mr. Summers, shouldn't you be at work on this fine day?"

"Oh, I'm just on lunch. Mr. Peterson sent me to town for some supplies. I work for him, helping out with the sheep and horses. Pays fair enough. Anyway, I've been wanting to chat with you and this seemed a fair opportunity."

"I see. Is there anything in particular you want to chat about?"

"Well, yes. I was hoping you'd have a word with my wife for me. Like I said, I work for Mr. Peterson and his farm. Well, it's not too rough, but I work hard enough and after a hard day's work, I think a man's entitled to a pint or two, don't you?"

"I suppose so, as long as it's only a pint or two," the Master emphasized, feeling it in character with his disguise to curb excess.

"Well, my missus, God bless her, she's awful hard on me about it. Seems to think I should go straight home to her and no mucking about. Now, is that fair, sir? I'm generally home in time to wash up for supper, without letting the meat get cold! Don't you think she should be a bit easier on a hard working bloke?"

The Master stared at the man, struggling to hide his anger. Was the man really wasting the Master's valuable time on this? Did he think the Master cared about his squabbles with his wife? He took a deep breath, reminding himself that, to this man, he was not yet the Master, but Mr. Magister, the local vicar, the man the village turned to for wisdom and advice! The Master counted to ten and smiled kindly.

"How long have you been married, Mr. Summers?"

"About two years, sir."

"I see. Well, that's not very long is it? Women do tend to be attached to their husbands, particularly early on in the marriage."

"Oh, now, I'm not saying I'm not glad to get home! I'm very happy with my Jenny, Mr. Magister!" Summers protested.

"Well, then, let's apply a little rational reasoning to this, shall we? You feel entitled to a pint or two, but Mrs. Summers wants you to spend more time with her and come home after work. Do you object to Mrs. Summers having a pint or two?"

Tom Summers looked at the Master in surprise, then shrugged.

"Well, no. I can't say it ever came up, really."

"No doubt. Why don't you try going home and having supper, first? Then, you and your wife can both go to the pub for a pint together! That way, you get your pint and she doesn't feel like you are neglecting her."

Tom Summers face brightened in a way that the Master found almost comical. Really, the solution should have been obvious, even to the low intellect of a human! He kept a patient smile on his face, even as he mentally began counting the days to Beltane and his freedom from this role!

"That's a brilliant suggestion, Mr. Magister! I'm sure Jenny'd like getting out of the house, after cleaning and cooking her day away! It'll be a treat for her! Thank you, sir!"

"You're welcome, Mr. Summers. Now, you'd better get those supplies and get back, hadn't you?"

"Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Magister! God bless you, sir!"

"Yes, yes, of course. Good day to you!"

The Master watched Mr. Summers leave and breathed a sigh of relief at being alone again. He marveled at the masochism of the men who chose to spend their entire lives playing this part! He'd be hard pressed not to thin his flock a bit before Beltane! Nevertheless, he was the Master and he would persevere! It wouldn't hurt for him to spread a bit of his wisdom and intellect to these miserable, helpless beings. No, the office of vicar was perfect for his purposes! He sat and worked on his sermon, congratulating himself on his patience and understanding.

"It's far too beautiful a day to be cooped up in a stuffy office, don't you think?"

The Master looked up and saw a woman of about forty-five standing in the doorway. Garvin stood directly behind her, looking positively alarmed! The woman was tall, with blond hair held firmly and artfully in place, framing her face coquettishly. She was wearing brown slacks and a soft pink blouse, buttoned just high enough for decency. She was smiling sweetly and expectantly.

"It is a beautiful day," the Master agreed. "May I help you?"

"This is Miss Emma Powter," Garvin introduced, apologetically.

"Yes, it is!" Miss Powter snapped, before forcing herself to smile sweetly. "Thank you, Garvin."

Garvin, properly, looked to the Master for instruction. The Master eyed the woman for a moment, then nodded at Garvin, letting his irritation show, for a moment. Garvin ducked his head, silently, accepting the rebuke, then left. Miss Powter allowed herself a slight smirk, shutting the door and coming over to sit in the visitor's chair.

"Well, it's a pleasant enough office, at least. How are you today, Mr. Magister?"

"I'm quite well, thank you, Miss Powter. How may I help you?"

"Oh, I just thought you might appreciate some company. You're new to town, after all, and I thought we could get acquainted."

"I appreciate the thought, Miss Powter, but settling in does require some work on my part. I have a sermon to write, at the moment." Miss Powter smiled, pressing forward against the desk, emphasizing her bust.

"Your dedication is admirable, Mr. Magister. Too few men are really...passionate about their work, these days," Miss Powter complimented, licking her upper lip. The Master blinked, marveling at the woman's presumption.

"Then, you understand that I don't really have time to socialize at the moment, Miss Powter."

"Nonsense! You can't work and think on an empty stomach and it's lunch time! I admit, I rather bullied poor Garvin into telling me if you had eaten yet or not!" she admitted, coyly.

The Master struggled, torn between maintaining his role and dealing with this human the way she deserved! He'd dallied with queens and this brazen woman thought she could snare him so easily?

"Miss Powter..."

"Oh, call me Emma, please!"

"That doesn't seem appropriate on such short acquaintance, Miss Powter," the Master denied, firmly. "I appreciate your attention to my diet, but I take lunch later in the day, after I have accomplished the tasks I set for myself. I'm sure we'll have plenty of opportunities to become better acquainted, but for now, I really need to return to work!"

"Oh, you are dedicated," Miss Powter observed, approvingly. "All right, Mr. Magister. I'm part of the women's committee, you know. I'll just have to wait until Thursday to enjoy your company! I'm looking forward to it quite a bit!"

"Yes, well, until Thursday, then, Miss Powter," the Master agreed, beginning to wonder if he should cancel.

Miss Powter stood, smiling sweetly, and held out her hand. Deciding a bit of social awkwardness might put her off, the Master gave her hand a single, firm shake, before releasing it. Miss Powter just gave a laugh, her eyes bright. The Master shivered, deciding Beltane could not come quickly enough!

"Au revoire, Mr. Magister," she offered, silkily.

"Good day, Miss Powter," the Master offered, formally.

The Master walked out with her and watched as she exited, fuming.

"Garvin!"

Garvin appeared, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"Yes, sir."

"Was it Mr. Smallwood's habit to simply admit anyone who came traipsing in?"

"Well, yes, sir. Be fair, sir, you did say for me to keep things to his schedule!"

"Yes, yes, I did," the Master admitted. "Nevertheless, a bit more order is needed around here! From now on, anyone wanting to speak with me must make an appointment. Try not to schedule more than four a day, but don't keep anyone waiting longer than two or three days, if you can."

"Yes, Master," Garvin agreed, submissively.

"And, Garvin? If Miss Powter asks, my schedule is full!"

"Yes, Master," Garvin repeated, wincing at having to deal with her himself.

"It's only for a few weeks, Garvin," the Master reminded him, trying to assure himself, as well as the other man. "It'll all be over after Beltane." 


End file.
